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like an old fashion spinning top that’s about to wobble and topple.
    My Triple-G purses her lips and sucks her teeth like my mama used to do when I was at home. Tsk, tsk, tsk. I lick my tongue out at her, and attempt to give her the double middle finger which, I know, is overkill. But when I start listing to the side, I give up and grasp the edge of the bar to keep from falling off the stool. I’m usually not such a lightweight. I signal the bartender and ask for a bowl of nuts.
    “And give me some fresh ones, not those you got sitting in those bowls over there. People are nasty, and I don’t want anybody else’s germs.”
    He looks taken aback by my demand. I flash him my lanyard with all my backstage passes attached, and he acquiesces.
    I gobble the mixed nuts like a starving person, then I remember I need to retain some dignity, because I’m cute and might just be turning off some interested party by being such a pig. I exercise self-control, act blasé, and eat as a proper lady should. I feel better in about a half hour, during which time I’ve turned down four guys who’ve asked me to dance, and two who just got down to brass tacks and asked me to go home with them.
    “Do I look like a hooker?” I ask the last one who propositions me.
    His face screws up as if I’ve asked him to do an algebraic equation in his head without the use of any scratch paper. I stand, rub my hands together to dust off the salt from the nuts, and walk away. In my periphery, I see Tristan White isn’t in Princess Danai’s section anymore, so I check my posture and make my way to the velvet rope cordoning her off from the other party goers.
    I walk up to a solitary bouncer who eyes my passes and removes the velvet rope. Princess Danai smiles when she sees me approaching her. I knew the sister would recognize me, tracts or not.
    “Keisha! I thought you weren’t gon’ make it before I had to go on,” she says, and kisses me square on the mouth. If the future of Kente Studio Records didn’t depend on me winning this bitch over, I would’ve clocked her ass for kissing me like that. We are not Madonna and Brittany Spears. However, I play it chill, and grin back at her when she pulls back.
    Good thing she’s wearing a diamond-encrusted grill, so she didn’t try to give me any tongue action.
    I take the seat Tristan occupied next to her, even though she makes room for me on the loveseat. “I wouldn’t have missed tonight for all the Russian Mob’s money in Chicago.”
    “Blake’s going on now,” Princess Danai says. “We can watch from up here.” That’s when I notice the section we’re in is next to a glass wall that overlooks the stage and dance floor downstairs.
    One of her entourage presses a button and the glass splits horizontally, the upper half disappears into the ceiling. We move to the lower half of the wall and look down over the throng of partiers.
    Blake is on stage screaming, “Make some noise!” And the crowd obliges him. I roll my eyes when some girl throws her panties on the stage before he even gets going . You might regret throwing those up there, chick, if you know like I know. My Fairy Hoochie Mama yawns and hops onto her mini chaise to take a nap.
    Byron was a selfish lover who rarely ever got me off, and his equipment ain’t all that impressive either. It was all about getting his, and forget any action from him downtown.
    Oh, he wanted me to give him blow jobs, but he acted as if my vajayjay was diseased or some shit . He insisted the best girlfriends let their boyfriends come in their mouths, and I was like, “Boy, that shit don’t taste as good as those fucking porn stars pretend. Jizz is nasty!” We’d reached a stalemate. I stopped giving him blowjobs, and advised him that he wouldn’t get any more from me until he reciprocated. It never happened. Bastard!
    Princess Danai presses her front to my back and leans over me to whisper in my ear. “I’m dedicating my show to you.”
    I giggle,